They told me they are knights, but non swung a sword in my battlefield.
They fled like cowards, the moment they heard the storm and it's obscure yield.
If only they waited and mulled the fog, they would've heard the rhythm of the eagle's song.
If only they had faith, or even some hope.
Aware they had their own battles, but along they draw night their shields to my field.Proving their loyalty, I would've sent my aid.
But I saw them retreating, baying "It's not worth the pain."
Tell me, wasn't I worth the pain? Or you lied to comfort yourself for running away? Or you felt like the losing side, so you tried to withdrawal before you mold your pain?
Tell me, have you ever thought of replaying the game?
Maybe like they said; I was too much for them, too complicated, too crazy.
You're welcome to my feast, but I will always discern you with a clean sword, foresee dying dishonored in your bed eating a loaf of raw meat.
YOU ARE READING
Battlefield
PoetryHe is a color blind knight from the city of doom, Interested in flowers and me. Could I be more charmed, no I could not.
